Brant didn't learn anything, however, because she only nodded and smiled demurely at the others. She turned to inspect each of the dusty corners while John and Bitsy settled their poorly clad frames on the cracked wooden floor.
Brant leaned near the man's head. "I'll be back for you after dark falls. Get some rest while you can." To the woman he said, "Are you certain you want to do this? We don't know where you're destined for, and you may never see anyone here again."
Bitsy reached for his roughened hand, grasping it between her own, work-calloused ones. "Anyplace would be better, Mista Brant. I wanta raise my baby myself. We can never thank ya enough."
"There's no need," he whispered, turning away.
"God bless you," she said, wiping a tear from her face.
"And God be with both of you, wherever that may be."
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, I think so. Brant, I have to tell you something. I've always been just a bit frightened of basements."
"Basements?"
"Cellars. You know, wine cellars, root cellars, anything underground," Leia said. "Just wanted to let you know." She had hoped for words of reassurance or protection, but Brant merely strode to the cellar door and yanked it open. She joined him, mentally preparing for the descent.
"Do you have a flashlight?"
"Have a what?" Brant asked, and Leia bit her tongue.
"That's just Baltimore slang for candle or lantern."
"Slang?" Brant was asking questions, but he had at the same time taken a small lamp from the sideboard. "Look, better than candles or lard-oil lamps. Whale-oil! We'll have plenty of light." He started down the steep steps, holding the lamp out in front.
Leia followed, holding her skirts so she wouldn't trip and clutching the unsanded railing. The meager light of the lamp was not sufficient for Leia, who longed for that naked light bulb of the future. She stayed close to Brant, her eyes avoiding the eerie shadows the lamp threw.
Muffled noises came from the far ends of the basement, which Leia assumed were made by scampering mice. At least, she hoped that's all they were.
"Where do we start?" Leia whispered into Brant's ear.
"I remember seeing a few pieces in a trunk over there, to the right. And you don't need to whisper, Leah." Brant indicated their direction by pointing the small lamp. Together they moved to the far corner, until Brant stopped in front of what appeared to be an antique hope chest.
Leia couldn't see what else was in the cellar, because the lamp shed so little light. Her imagination was running wild, envisioning evil creatures lurking in the shadows, so she kept her eyes on Brant and tried to concentrate on the chest. He had opened it, and was pulling items out.
"Teapot, no lid, chipped glass candlestick, a very dull knife," he said, listing the items as he lifted them for her inspection.
"Are there no windows at all down here?" she asked, keeping her gaze fixed on Brant.
"In the cellar? Of course not. Except for one tiny one, high on the far wall. Look at this, a ladies' hand mirror."
She nodded. "How about other doors?"
"Well, there is a door back near the bottom of the steps. To a closet, I believe. Other than that, I don't have any idea. I've only been down here a few times. Look at this, Leah." He held up a faceted crystal dish, the size of an ash-tray.
She recognized the faint suspicion in his voice, and the way he tried to change the subject, just like the other day in the kitchen. He was trying to keep the conversation on the glass, and off of doors. Cellar doors.
"Let me see," she said, taking the delicate piece and holding it close to the lamp. "This is beautiful. Look at the center, there are grapes etched into the glass." She ran her fingers over the pattern. Why would he care if she asked about doors?
"Leah! Look at this!" He held up a small flask this time, the kind Leia recognized was used to hold whiskey.
"A flask?" She took the bottle, handing the dish back to Brant. Examining the amber glass, she noticed a man's portrait embossed on its front.
"Look at him," she said, pointing the face out.
"Who is it?"
"I really don't know. He doesn't look familiar, but let's take this piece upstairs. And the dish, and those lacy base candlesticks." Leia finished rifling through the chest of treasures, and wiped the dust from her hands onto her skirt.
He nodded and began putting the other misfit objects back into the chest. Leia looked around her at the dark, shadowy corners, and wished again for a flashlight. She shivered involuntarily when her eyes adjusted, and a faint outline of what could be a door appeared on the opposite wall.
"Brant! Look over there, it's another door." She squinted slightly, willing the darkness to allow her to focus more clearly, but the image had disappeared.
"Where?"he asked, lifting his head so quickly she thought he'd snap it right off his neck.
"Oh, I guess it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I really don't like cellars, you know."
"You have mentioned that. Why are you hoping to locate another door? You're not planning to come back down here alone, are you?" His questions seemed logical, but they irritated Leia.
"I'm not," she snapped, "Let's just go back upstairs, okay?" She took the candlesticks he handed her, and waited for him to go ahead with the lamp. He stood still, looking at her. She knew he was confused by her change in mood, but she really didn't care. The whole situation was getting tiresome, and Leia felt her nerves prickle from her toes to the tip of her nose. I need two Advil tablets, she thought, shaking her head at the impossibility.
"What's wrong, Leah?" Brant's look had shifted from suspicious to concerned.
"I think I need some air, Brant. Can we get upstairs, please?"
He nodded and led the way thought the darkness. She took a deep breath, but was disappointed when her lungs filled with the damp mustiness. When they reached the door at the foot of the stairs, Leia paused. She knew Brant had said it was a closet behind the door, but she just had to check. Balancing both candlesticks in one hand and against her body, she yanked the door open. Creaking hinges gave way, and she was staring into a closet-size room of nothingness.
"A closet?" he asked.
She nodded, knowing that he had been right about the door, but she had gone through what she'd known to be a door to her own dining room in the nineties, and found something totally unexpected on the other side. She had to try every door she found.
Resigned to her situation for the moment, Leia started up the stairs. She wondered what Martin and Sara were doing, if they had tried to find her. Would they think she had just run off?
Something scurried under Leia's feet and she jumped, startled. Her movement pushed her against Brant's back, in motion also, and he stumbled up the stairs. Grabbing the rough railing, Leia felt splinters pierce her hand. The sound of glass breaking above her made her panic, and she gasped as Brant's knee went down into the shards.
Chapter 4
"She did not just run off, Jason," Sara told her brother. "Leia McGarland is a very responsible woman. She would not let her clients down, either. I've talked to two Realtors who've called wondering why she stood them up. I've made excuses for her, saying she had family business due to her grandfather's death. It's been more than twenty-four hours now. We have to call the police."
"They'll laugh at us! Not many women disappear from their own basements, Sara. Or they will suspect us of doing something to her. Let's go down to the basement again and look."
"We did that last night, Jason. She wasn't there. We found no clues." She turned to the man who cared for Leia as much as her own grandfather had. "One more time, Martin, are you sure that's where she went for the wine?"
"Of course I'm sure. The cellar door is right in the dining room! She just never came back up. If you hadn't run off you would have known that."
"And you didn't leave to use the bathroom, or answer the phone, or something just for a minute? She could have returned and slipped out then. Or maybe she jus
t said she was going to the basement, but really left through the front door?"
Martin glared. "Look, I told you what happened. Now, I'm going down to search the basement again. Are either of you coming with me?"
Sara hesitated, then nodded slowly. She followed him down the stairs, pulling Jason behind her, wishing she had never doubted the loyalty of her friend. Now Leia was missing and they'd parted with angry words.
The shrill ringing of the phone halted Jason midway down the stairs. Martin continued down, but Sara waited, moving to the dining room door. Ignoring his girlfriend, Jason pushed past her and went back through the dining room door into the kitchen. She sat down at the dining room table and waited for his return, which happened within a minute.
"Change of plans. C'mon," he said, motioning for Sara to follow. He led her into the parlor.
"What are you doing?"
"I've arranged a deal with the Downsbury Shop," Jason said, walking toward the Chippendale commode. "They're going to take this junk off our hands." He yanked open the delicate doors, glanced inside, and whipped his head back toward Sara.
"Where are they?"
"What? The glass stuff? I don't know. But you can't sell Leia's collection! That's her stuff, not yours!" She studied him with narrowed eyes. Perhaps Leia had been right about him after all.
"Well I certainly can't sell it if it's not here!" Jason's eyes grew narrow, and he looked slowly around the parlor. He pulled on the fretwork of the hanging cabinet, and a door fell open. The cabinet was also empty.
"It's all gone," he said, shaking his head.
"It just disappeared? How can that be? Unless..." Sara said, sitting down. Where was Leia?
"Unless what?"
"Unless Leia's been back here without us knowing." Would she need money and try to sell her revered collection?
"Let's go. Back to that damn basement."
Even as spears of glass pierced his knee, Brant managed to grab his companion around the waist to save her from falling. He winced not at the actual stabbing pain, but at the burning as he tried to straighten the joint. Feels like I've been shot, he thought.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, pulling Leah toward him.
"No, just a few splinters from the railing. We have to get that glass out of your knee pronto!" Brant looked at her, once again amazed by one of her strange phrases. She was right, though, he had to take care of his knee. He righted the lamp to make sure no fire would start.
The couple hobbled up the last steps and through the dining room, which was deserted. Leah pushed him into the kitchen and onto a chair.
"I don't suppose you have a first-aid kit around here?"
He looked at her blankly.
"Never mind." She sighed. "Can you hike your pants up?"
Brant knew that the large muscles of his calves would not allow the trousers to fold back over his knee, so he was already removing them.
"What are..." Leah didn't finish her sentence. She turned back to a large pitcher of water, wetting a rag with it.
Trouserless, Brant sat back down and rolled the thin gaiter up over his left knee. He felt the blood draining from his face, and he tried to think of something else and treat his wound as if it belonged to someone else. He kept thinking about Leah, about the way she'd looked in her bed last night, when he had intruded where he didn't belong...and she hadn't minded.
"It's not as bad as it could have been," he said, plucking three miniature daggers from his skin. The glass was dark amber, from the portrait flask, and was easy to spot on light tan skin. A few drops of crimson blood appeared.
"Let me wipe that," Leah offered, dabbing gently at his knee with the rag. "Don't you have any peroxide or alcohol?"
Brant noticed her eyes wander from his knee to the top of his leg, and linger there. Her bold glances excited him. Usually surrounded by demure maidens, he assumed her appreciative gaze came from experience with her husband. Of course, the rowdy women in town might look at him that way, but certainly Leah wasn't like them.
"Alcohol? What type? Brandy? In the dining room there's some whiskey," he offered, wincing as the last shard was excavated.
"I suppose that will have to do. I'll get it. Don't move." Leah was through the door before he could respond. He wondered if the drink was to be for her or for him. Even though it was early in the day, Brant felt he could use a drink. He couldn't decide which was more frustrating, the pain in his knee or the feelings that were teasing him whenever he looked at Leah. She was pretty...no, something about her inside made her beautiful, and she had the softest skin and the tiniest waistline. Brant believed it would be tiny with or without a corset. The way she kept looking at him, was, well, exciting.
Belle had looked at him that way, and the rowdy ones, and other girls who flirted with any man they could find. Something had been missing with them, though, something like true feeling. Only one other woman had looked at him that way, with what he believed to be sincerity, and that had been Margaret. He had been fooled.
Recalling that name and face made Brant feel like a shard of glass had just spliced his heart. He must keep those painful memories fresh so he'd not develop those kind of emotions again for anyone. Once he left here, he must forget Leah and concentrate on survival.
"Found it," Leah called, sailing back into the room, her skirts swaying.
Brant held out his hand, ready to accept the bottle and drink, but she surprised him again, pouring the amber fluid directly onto his raw knee and dabbing the run-off with a rag. He winced instantly at the burning sensation, but pride held him still.
"You took that well," she told him.
"Why on earth did you do that?" His voice remained calm.
"To prevent infection, silly," she said, then handed him the bottle. "Now you can have some."
He took a few sips and handed the bottle back. "I think now you should elevate your leg," she went on, gently lifting his leg onto a nearby chair. "And just relax for a few minutes. Okay?"
"I must put my trousers on," he said, but made no move to rise.
"Not yet. Keep still a bit, let's elevate your leg, just to make sure the bleeding won't start again." She patted his hand in a motherly way and pulled a chair up to his. She lifted his leg and propped his foot on her lap with the utmost care.
He watched her watch him, but saw nothing further of the maternal sort. Her eyes were taking in the muscles in his legs, his muscles everywhere. If she had any decency, she would look away. Brant was glad she didn't.
"Thank you. I forgot to say thank you," she began, breaking the silent tension.
"What for? You have taken care of me."
"For catching me like you did on the steps. Something scared me. It was my fault. I pushed you and made you stumble. And then you still managed to grab me so I wouldn't fall. It was heroic. Thank you." Modesty, or fear, finally caused her to look down at her hands.
Brant couldn't suppress a smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Grahm, for nursing my knee. But it's fine," he said, setting his foot back on the floor and rolling the gaiter down over his leg. He rose and reached for his pants, turning away from her to pull them on. Listening for her to leave the room, like a lady would, he felt instead her gaze burning his backside. A blush rose to his cheeks, like a fever that started lower and worked its way up to his face, not a blush of humiliation, but one of arousal. No woman had ever watched him dress before, not Margaret, not even his mother. The feeling was not only a new one, but a good one.
"Do you need something?" Hettie asked, entering the kitchen with her arms full of vegetables.
"No, thank you Hettie. We will get out of your way," Leah said, taking Brant's arm. She gave him a conspiratorial glance that said...It's fine. Your trousers are on...Now.
The clip-clop, clip-clop of hooves drew Leia's attention to the approaching horseman. The rider was alone, and Leia was surprised at the noise one horse made on the dirt driveway. She watched from the parlor window, tugging the velvet draperies around her into folds of tension. T
he man's dark uniform appeared northern enough, but even soldiers on the right side could prove dangerous.
A noise from the side of the house caught the stranger's attention, and he dismounted. Leia watched as Brant strode toward the man, clasping his arm and slapping him on the back. Feeling as though she was watching a reunion of old friends, Leia untangled herself from the window dressing and opened the front door.
"Leah, come here. I'd like you to meet someone," Brant called to her. She raised her skirts slightly and descended the stone steps, joining the men on the dirt. The stranger bowed slightly to her.
"Captain Daniel Beck at your service, ma'am," he said, removing his dark blue cap.
Leia noticed that he needed a shave and a clean uniform. "It's nice to meet you."
"Daniel's going to be with us for a few days," Brant explained, still smiling at his friend.
"How nice, Captain Beck. Are you on your way to Pennsylvania?"
"Why, yes, I am. How did you know?"
Leia noticed his wary gaze, similar to the one she'd noticed on Brant when she had first arrived. "Just a guess, Captain. I assumed you'd be heading the same direction Brant will be taking shortly. Really," she assured him. She was amazed at how overly suspicious he acted...like Brant. It must be a soldier thing.
"Well, you know there's been some talk about female spies working for the rebs, Miss Leah. No disrespect intended. We just can't be too careful." He stroked his graying beard and looked at Leia solemnly.
"Leah's a cousin of the McGarlands, Daniel. Up from Baltimore. Widowed recently, you know." Brant spoke softly to the soldier, and touched Leia's shoulder. "She's like family to me, too."
"Forgive me, ma'am. It's just the nature of the job."
Leia fixed a sincere smile on the man. "I'll find out which room you may use and help get it ready for you." She felt warm and pleased by Brant's words about her being like family. Her rational side, however, reminded her once again of the danger she would face if the real Leah should suddenly materialize. Would they then assume she was a spy for the south? She shivered at the thought of what they'd do to her.
The Will of Time Page 6
